


Aesthesia

by thegraytigress



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Steggy Secret Santa, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 12:39:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9072100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraytigress/pseuds/thegraytigress
Summary: After the serum, Steve's world changes, and each one of his heightened senses focuses on Peggy.  Or, alternatively, five times Steve's senses bring him closer to Peggy and the one time his heart does.Part of the 2016 Steggy Secret Santa.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **DISCLAIMER:** _Captain America: The First Avenger_ , _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ , and _Captain America: Civil War_ are the properties of Walt Disney Studios, Paramount Studios, and Marvel Studios. This work was created purely for enjoyment. No money was made, and no infringement was intended.
> 
>  **RATING:** T (for mild violence)
> 
>  **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This is my 2016 Secret Santa gift to ooroo-reviews on tumblr. I hope you enjoy it! It's my first attempt at a 5+1 fic. Warnings for canonical character death (and therefore some canonical grieving).

The pod opened.

The world changed.

Steve took a breath.  It felt… _free._

That was what he noticed first, that he could breathe right.  It was amazing, liberating.  He could take a deep breath and feel his body fill with air.  It didn’t hurt.  It wasn’t a struggle.  It was empowering in a way not much else was in his life, empowering and overwhelming.  It was so new and alien that he kept gasping, breathing fast and heavy like his body was desperate to make up for years of laboring for oxygen.  He was so lost up in that that he hardly heard Doctor Erskine call his name, hardly noticed the hands grabbing him, hardly realized they were pulling him out of the pod.  All there was was this loud noise in his ears, a steady _thump thump thump_ that was new and amazing, and that feeling of freedom because he could _breathe._   So all he could do was stand there, supported by Doctor Erskine and Howard Stark, surrounded by people who were all scrambling to see America’s first super soldier, and drift in his shock.  It wasn’t just breathing.  It was _everything._

Vaguely he heard his own voice.  “You did it?”

He could practically feel Doctor Erskine’s smile.  “I think we did.”

And Stark.  “You actually did it.”

And Peggy.  _Peggy._   He felt her more than anything else.  He was still overwrought with it all, like he was struggling to the surface, but the struggle wasn’t anything like the struggles he’d had all his life.  This one was raw and incredible and leading to something amazing.  He dragged in another shaking breath, every cell in this new body thrumming with energy and life and vitality, and he finally got his eyes open.

What he saw was unbelievable.  His color-blindness had made everything a muddied, dull brown, and that was all he’d known his whole life.  He’d always somewhat realized that he wasn’t seeing things right, that reds and greens in particular were wrong, that he couldn’t perceive what everyone else so easily did.  It was one more thing he simply didn’t have and couldn’t do.

Now there was so much light and color that he could hardly process it.  Again it was just _overwhelming,_ the vibrant hues he could perceive.  And the most vibrant of them…

 _Red._   Peggy’s red lips.  They were ruby, lush and full even though they were twisted in a concerned, alarmed frown.  _Brown._   Peggy’s brown hair, pinned up on her head, a little mussed and frizzy from the heat in the room and the electricity that still seemed to charge the air.  Her brown eyes, wide with shock and concern, with something more he was just starting to want.  To hope for.  And the soft, milky complexion of her skin, so smooth and perfect it was almost like porcelain.  The pale white of her teeth.  The tans and olive greens of her uniform and the brass and gold of the buttons and pins.  He could see the seams of her jacket, the tiny threads woven together, the minute pattern of it.  He could see _everything._

The serum had fixed his eyes.  The serum had brought his vision to this incredible level of perception.  There was so much around him, so much color and movement, and he could see it all with such stunning clarity, the sort of detail that he never knew could _exist._

But the only things that stood out amongst all that crisp motion and vivid color and exquisite detail were Peggy’s red lips and brown eyes.

She was flustered.  “How do you feel?”

Steve didn’t know.  Overwhelmed yet.  It was indescribable, how he felt.  His arms and legs were tingling.  His heart was pounding but not in any way that was distressed.  His lungs were still gulping at air like a man who’d spent his life starving was suddenly seated at a feast.  And he was looking down on her.  Down.  Before, _a few minutes before_ , they were of a height.  She was maybe even a little larger than him.  Now…  “Taller.” 

That was what he blurted out.  If his brain wasn’t reeling with how beautiful she looked, how red her lips were and how deeply brown her eyes were, he’d probably have realized that was a stupid thing to say.

She didn’t seem to notice, let alone care.  She was reeling, too, reaching up a hand like she wanted to touch him, but then she thought better of that and dropped it with a nervous smile.  She grabbed a shirt being handed to her by a nurse and offered it to him.  What she said next was about as dumb and graceless.  “You look taller.”

All around them there were congratulations and cheers and hands being shaken, and Steve couldn’t do anything but stare at Peggy.  He was pretty numb and graceless as he took the shirt, unable to take stock of his body much because her lips were so red.  Perfectly red.  It was an innate thing, knowing they were red, because he had never seen _red_ before.  The contrast of that rich red against the whiteness of her teeth was mesmerizing as she smiled.  There were little lines about her mouth when she did, and he couldn’t get past that he could _see_ these things, the tiny hairs on her skin, the tiny imperfections that made her more perfect.  The light powder of her rouge.  The flecks of hazel in the chocolate of her irises, the thickness of her lashes as she blinked.  “What?” she asked.  “Are you…”

 _I can see you._   Like never before, he could.  “Nothing,” he said, finally getting control of his body.  He stuck his arms in the shirt, pulled it over his head, did that all as fast as he could so he could see her again.  It was like how he was breathing before, like his eyes _needed_ to see her because he’d never seen anything so amazing before.  It was incredible, and he was hungering for it on a basic level.  Now that he’d experienced what the world – what _she_ – really looked like, he was addicted to it.

“Steve?”

He opened his mouth, desperate to tell her the truth.  _You’re beautiful._

But he never got a chance.  Some exploded behind them in a wave of fire and glass, and gunshots rang out through the lab.

Then Captain America was born.

* * *

The serum changed everything about Steve.  It went well beyond the obvious, although the obvious was pretty striking.  It made him taller, stronger, put muscles on his body where before there’d been nothing but thin skin and knobby bones.  It made him faster, more resistant to fatigue with a greater capacity for fighting longer and harder than anyone else.  It made his brain quicker, too, more capable of digesting information faster.  He could read and learn at an accelerated rate, a fact which shocked a lot of the doctors and researchers at the SSR who’d clearly underestimated just how strong Doctor Erskine’s serum was.

But there were other things, namely how it heightened his senses.  The enhanced vision he noticed instantly, but the other differences took him somewhat by surprise.  They weren’t always a blessing.  Sometimes he was assailed with so much useless energy that it was torture to stay still, like he needed to be doing _something_ so badly that not doing anything was unbearable.  Sometimes his brain wouldn’t shut off; he quickly discovered he didn’t need as much sleep as before, and that led to many lonely nights spent sketching or reading or exercising while the rest of the USO tour peacefully slumbered.  Worst of all, sometimes this new body still didn’t feel right to him despite the months that had passed since Project: Rebirth.  This sense of grotesque detachment left him uncertain and uncomfortable in his skin.  He was incredibly grateful for the transformation he’d undergone of course, even if he’d spent the last summer as a USO attraction rather than serving his country on the battlefield.  It kept him busy, which kept his mind off the disconnect between his brain and the rest of him.  That overwhelming sensation of being bombarded by what he was seeing and feeling and hearing hadn’t completely abated, though he was handling it better.  There was simply _so much._   Needless to say, this new Steve Rogers was taking the old Steve Rogers some getting used to.

It wasn’t all bad, though.  He kept telling himself that as he sat on the steps outside the stage in the rain.  He could hear every single splatter of the raindrops on the tarp overhead, a steady throbbing of liquid against the canvas.  He tried to ignore it, to focus instead on his drawing.  His pencil scratched over the paper, the pages of his journal a little damp with the cold rain.  The sketch of the monkey on the unicycle dressed in all of Uncle Sam’s best was probably a little overdramatic, but that was how he felt.  It was even worse after that disaster in front of the troops not long ago; his cheeks still felt hot with shame and embarrassment at how they’d hated him.  He hadn’t come with the USO to Europe to make things worse for the troops, that was for sure.

He took a deep breath through his nose, blinking at the rain, when a soft smell came to him.  Like everything else, his sense of smell was much stronger than it used to be.  That was both good and bad, he was finding.  With his enhanced metabolism constantly driving him to eat enough to feed a small army, the slightest whiff of food was enough to make his stomach growl sometimes.  He could smell the mess from the other side of camp, could pick up the plume of oil from a truck coming down the road, could detect the stink of gunpowder and carnage that clung to the soldiers at the show like a pall.  Even now the scent of wet soil and pungent pine was thick even though the woods were dozens of feet away.  Beneath that, there was something else, though.  Lilies.  Soft and sweet and subtle.  It immediately grabbed his attention, the smell so unlike anything else in this military camp.

“Hello, Steve.”

He turned around, the scent getting stronger as he did.  Peggy was there, and suddenly it made perfect sense.  It was from her, this sweet breath of fresh air.  And her lips were so red, her skin pale, her eyes deep and alluring.  Her hair was a little frizzy with the rain.  She was still so stunningly beautiful.  “Hi,” he stammered.

“Hi,” she answered, holding her coat over her arm.  She came closer, walking across the wet stage to the steps.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

She set her coat down and sat on a chest of props for the show beside him.  “Officially I’m not here at all.”  She sighed, looking at him sternly.  He didn’t like that frown on her face, the way her jaw was set with disapproval and a hint of determination, but he couldn’t focus on much else aside from that sweet scent of lilies.  It was her perfume.  It had to be.  “That was quite a performance.”

He snapped out of it, turning back to his book.  “Yeah, uh…”  God, he felt like a fool.  “I had to improvise a little bit.  The crowds I’m used to are usually more, uh…  twelve.”

“I understand you’re America’s new hope.”

Now he could hear the frown in her voice.  He liked that even less.  It hurt.  “Bond sales take a ten percent bump in every state I visit.”  He looked down, the clamor of the pouring rain suddenly louder and more miserable.

She sighed again.  “Is that Senator Brandt I hear.”

“At least he’s got me doing this,” Steve said.  He’d told himself that over and over again since Brandt promoted him and signed him up for this nonsense.  It was humiliating, yes, but it was for a good cause.  It was silly and stupid, yes, but it was something he could do to help.  It was the only thing they were letting him use this new body for, _yes_ , but it was better than sitting around and reeling with this crazy transformation while the doctors continually shoved the differences in his face instead of helping him learn to use them.  He shook his head.  “Phillips would have had me stuck in a lab.”

“And these are your only two options,” Peggy said.  She tipped her head to his sketch.  “A lab rat or a dancing monkey.”

That was hard to hear.  He wasn’t sure _what_ he was anymore.  Doctor Erskine told him not to be a perfect soldier.  He told him to be the good man he already was, that he always had been.  He didn’t feel like who he had been, though.  Little Steve Rogers from Brooklyn who was always getting into fights to stand up to bullies, who was doing what he could even when he could hardly do anything at all…  He was so far from that, across the ocean, in this new body that still didn’t seem like his, in this new life that he wasn’t sure he wanted.  He’d wanted to help, to fight to protect people, to be a soldier, to _be_ what they turned him into.

He stared at the rain and took another deep breath.  Peggy’s perfume filled his lungs, his brain quickly tying the pleasant scent to her in his mind.  It was instantaneous, immediate, _innate_ for him to do that, to catalogue this thing in that constant stream of information as _Peggy._   Like red.  _Peggy._

Her voice softened.  “You were meant for more than this, you know.”

He turned to her.  She was staring at him, her eyes steeped in worry and disappointment and a gentle imploration.  The itchy energy that was constantly plaguing him started to gain a focus.  _Be what Peggy thinks you are._

So he did.  When Peggy told him the crowd at the USO show was the remainder of the 107th, he got out of the rain.  He had to.  Bucky needed him.  If he couldn’t save Bucky, then he truly wasn’t who he had been and never could be again.  Against orders he went to rescue the prisoners from HYDRA.  Peggy helped him coordinate the mission, and the light in her eyes bolstered his resolve even further.  With Howard Stark’s aid they dropped him deep in enemy territory in Azzano, and Captain America finally did what he was made to do.

Later, as he led the wounded and wearied prisoners back to the army base, it became fairly obvious that the rest of the men thought they were lost.  The walk through the night was dizzying, long and arduous, and there was no clear path through the dense forest.  The SSR base was fairly well hidden, which was only making the difficult journey more difficult.  The men kept following him, though, following Captain America.

“Steve, you sure about this?” Bucky asked when the company paused to rest.  The soldiers were suffering, so many thin and battered from captivity.  Bucky was one of them, filthy and beaten and low.  He looked at Steve with reddened, hollowed out eyes.  “You sure you know where we’re going?  The guys are…”  He swallowed and looked around at the troops.  “They need…”

Steve just pulled him into a hug and promised him it was fine.  His sense of direction was another thing that had been improved by the serum, so he was fairly sure he was going the right way.  He wasn’t certain until late afternoon the next day, though, when his keen sense of smell picked up the scent of gas and fire and food.  It was faint at first, but it aided him in honing in on the right direction as they worked their way through the trees.  For a while he couldn’t help but worry a little, too.  The weight of these poor guys’ battered bodies and wearied hopes was resting on his shoulders.

But his nose was right.  The gray day was giving way to a grayer sunset when he finally spotted the base ahead.  The men gave a cheer, smiling, slapping each other’s backs, and laughing as they picked up the pace.  Steve led them right through the gates, the heavy smells of the base welcoming him back.

And the scent of lilies.  That was when he knew for sure he’d make it, that he’d done something right, when he smelled flowers and saw Peggy standing there, as bright as the sun and trying hard not to smile.

* * *

Eventually Steve was able to control his senses and turn them to his advantage.  He learned more and more how to use this new body of his.  Doctor Erskine had never termed it as such, but the point of Project: Rebirth was pretty obvious.  They’d wanted to make a weapon, a soldier who could hit harder and move faster and continue on despite being wounded or exhausted.  And he was definitely that, a weapon.  He could hit harder and fight longer and run faster.  He could see more and think clearer.  He was a master tactician and a master martial artist, and with his shield, he could push through anything.  HYDRA learned quickly that Captain America and his Howling Commandos were a threat not easily vanquished. 

But so much power didn’t come without its price.  Needing to eat so much was definitely a problem.  Not being able to find relief from pain was serious, but he could overcome that, and he healed quickly enough that at least it was short-lived.  Sleeping so little was a blessing and a curse.  These things were bad, but Steve quickly discovered that they weren’t the worst.  No, the worst was how much he could _hear._

The rest of his senses had been amplified so that he could see farther and with far better acuity and smell things that before were indiscernible.  In a way, though, those were minor changes, things he could ignore or filter out.  How much he could hear was staggering.  Chronic ear infections in his youth had significantly damaged his ears.  He’d never realized how poor his hearing actually had been until Project: Rebirth, and after the serum, all he could think was he’d spent his life used to a quiet, muffled world, like he’d been at the bottom of the ocean and listening through water.  Now he could hear _everything_ with so much clarity.

It took Bucky and the rest of the Commandos some getting used to.  For one, there were no secrets shared around Steve.  He could hear even the quietest whispers.  He could hear muffled words from dozens of feet away.  He could pick apart the different threads of conversation in a loud room.  It was amazing, what he could do.  And it had certainly saved their collected rears more than a few times.  Steve being able to track their enemies through their soft footfalls or nearly silent words or even by the quiet clicks of them reloading their weapons was a boon during any assault but particularly when they needed to infiltrate a facility stealthily.  It was a tool, how sharp his ears were.  A weapon in Captain America’s arsenal.

However, there was no way to shut it off.  And everything was so _loud_.  It was really starting to bother him.  At first the fact that he could hear more was so wonderful that he’d basked in it, soaked in the sounds and how clear they were.  It was something that brought him closer to the world, something that breached a distance he never really knew existed before.  At first.

Then the horrors of war began to compound upon themselves.  Battle after battle.  Mission after mission.  He was Captain America.  It was his responsibility to destroy HYDRA, to stop the Red Skull in his tracks.  That was his duty, what he was meant for, so no matter how hard the fight got, he couldn’t falter.  That was what he thought, anyway.  Therefore, he carried on even when he was tired, even when he was hurt, and even when the noise of war got to be too much.

Or he tried to.  Sometimes, like this time, it was just too hard.

The operation was a disaster from the second they set out.  Intel on the size and strength of the HYDRA encampment in this particular village in southern Germany was wrong, so they were embroiled in a serious conflict before they even reached their target.  The factory wasn’t one of HYDRA’s biggest, but it was an important one, obviously key in their efforts to produce and distribute their advanced weaponry.  Taking it out was essential, and Steve had Colonel Phillips and the rest of the SSR pushing him hard to get the job done.  Powering their way through a HYDRA stronghold was difficult enough, but when their information about the strength of their opponents was lousy…

It was hell.  The Commandos completed their mission, but there were a lot of casualties.  HYDRA definitely didn’t care about using innocents as convenient shields and distractions, and the poor townsfolk found themselves in the crossfire between the 107th and an entire regiment of HYDRA.  Steve had done everything he could to get the civilians out, to protect them, but there were too many, and people died.

He couldn’t get their screams out of his head.

Coming down after a fight was always difficult for him.  Thanks to the serum he could stay focused and alert for days on end, so the adrenaline rush of battle was slow to dissipate.  Sometimes it left him shaky when it finally did abate, and tonight that was very bad.  He sat in his tent, head in his hands, soot-streaked and filthy.  His shield was against his footlocker, about as filthy and grimy as he was.  He couldn’t stand to look at it.  The chaotic nightmare of the battle was raw and fresh and visceral.  Guns snapping and cracking through the otherwise peaceful day.  Bombs going off, thunderously loud and shaking the earth beneath them and the buildings around them.  Screams of pain as friends and colleagues – the soldiers under _his_ command – fell.  Women shrieking as they tried to gather their children close and run.  Sobbing.  The other Commandos yelling above the din, trying to hold the rapidly degrading situation together.  His own voice, cracked and hoarse with panic, screaming that they needed to drive forward even as HYDRA pushed them back…

It was unbearable, as sharp and real as it had been hours ago when he’d lived through it.  Steve had heard of battle sickness, of shell shock and the like.  Soldiers could suffer with flashbacks and anxieties long after the life and death struggle was over.  Bucky knew about his troubles.  He knew and he understood because he suffered the same.  With the serum, it was all so much _worse_ sometimes, though Steve tried not to let on that it was breaking him.  He thought he was a pretty convincing liar, but maybe not, because Bucky had left him like this.  Bucky was usually there, trying to ground him, to remind him that it was over, that these sounds in his head that felt so real weren’t.  But Steve couldn’t hear Bucky this time, couldn’t make himself believe that even though he _knew_ it was true, so Bucky had gone.

Now he was back, and he wasn’t alone.  Steve looked up through blurry eyes as the flap to his tent opened.  “Steve?”  Bucky held the canvas aside.  “I brought Agent Carter.”

A jolt of fear went through Steve.  He didn’t want Peggy here.  He didn’t want her to see him like this, bloody and filthy with tears in his eyes and down his cheeks.  Rocking back and forth to try to calm himself.  Low and defeated.  Captain America was a symbol to the world, to the country, to the troops.  He was a paragon of bravery, of unyielding strength, of unwavering determination.  He wasn’t this broken mess sobbing alone in the shadows of his tent after a mission gone wrong.  He wasn’t some weakling who couldn’t tell his brain the fight was over, that all the screams and explosions and gunfire were _memory_ and not _real._   Peggy and he had something special, no doubt about that.  She made him feel things he didn’t know could be so good and right, and their friendship (and all the flirting that came with it) meant the world to him.  He didn’t want her to see him like this!

But there was nothing but concern in her gaze as her keen eyes looked Steve over.  Bucky had worry plastered all over his face.  He’d gone to get her because he knew this was going to be too rough and too hard for him to handle despite all the times in his life he’d taken care of Steve.  That was a major thing, for Bucky to be able to admit that, for him to trust Peggy like this.  He murmured something low to her, and she nodded and whispered something back, and Bucky gave Steve a final frightened look before leaving the two of them be.

This wasn’t strictly permissible, having her in his tent like this, but he couldn’t care.  All he could focus on was the barrage of noise boiling up inside him again.  He whimpered and dropped his gaze, squeezing his eyes shut again and his knees so hard that his arms shook.  The sounds of the battle seemed like they were burned into his brain, amplified and mutated by the serum into this monster raging inside him.  He felt himself shaking, his heart pounding, his stomach so tightly wound in knots that he was nauseous.  It was almost like falling, like the noise was rising up inside his head was trying to yank him down, and he couldn’t fight this.  _This_ he couldn’t fight.

He didn’t have to.  “Shhh, Steve,” Peggy whispered.  She’d crossed the few feet between them, and now she was grasping his face.  She’d never touched him like this before, and the press of her soft fingertips lightly into his jaw was electrifying enough to pull him back.  Her lips were bitten red with worry rather than painted that way with lipstick, and her normally impeccable appearance was all mussed up and dusty.  Not even she had escaped the disaster of the day unscathed.

Still, she was cool and gentle as she crouched in front of him.  Her thumbs swept over his cheeks.  “Barnes said you can’t–”

“I can’t stop hearing it,” he quickly whispered.  Admitting that made him shake harder.  “It’s in my head.  I can’t – they’re screaming, and I can’t–”

She hushed him again, pulling him close even though he was filthy.  Steve barked a sob into her shoulder, clutching desperately before he remembered he could hurt her.  “Sorry!  Sorry.  I – I…”

“It’s alright,” she promised.  Her hand found its way into his sweat-soaked hair, keeping his head down.  “Even Captain America needs a moment to break.” 

His next sob was a mixture of a cry and a laugh.  “It’s my fault.”

“No.”  Her voice was a low, comforting purr against his ear.  “No.  You did everything you could.  And it hurts.  I know it does.  But it will be alright, Steve.  I know it.”  She stroked his hair and let him cry.  “Let it out.”

He did.  It felt good to cry, like all the noise that had been trapped and building inside his brain was being released with every shuddering sob.  He wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but she managed to get the heavy top of his uniform undone.  The dirty cloth fell away, leaving him in his undershirt and dog tags.  She tugged off his boots, too, and got him lying on his bed.  She settled his head in her lap and pulled his blanket up and over him.  Then her fingers went back to his hair.

It was blissfully silent as he settled and breathed and smelled her perfume and saw the red of her lips as she whispered that he should rest.  The quiet didn’t last, though.  It never did.  The blast of bombs came back, the staccato roar of machine guns, the crack of bullets tearing things to shreds all around.  The shouts and screams.  Steve winced as they all replayed in his head in perfect, vivid clarity.  He jerked, stiffened, trying not to let himself see the things that went with the sounds.  The blood and fire and death.  The poor people who’d died because _he hadn’t saved them_ –

“Steve,” Peggy murmured.  “Focus on my voice.”

He snapped out of the noise in his head and did as she said.  Her fingers combed gently through his hair as she hummed.  It was low, pretty, a tender melody that seemed a lot like a lullaby.  He clung to it, to her.  Her soft song seemed meek at first, too weak to combat all that noise, but she didn’t stop, didn’t falter for a moment, and as he breathed and listened, she started to push it all back.  She filled his head, thought by thought, moment by moment.  Her voice was a sweet sound that made him think of nothing but here and now, of her fingers in his hair and her body warm and tender.  And it brought with it peace and quiet enough so that he could sleep. 

* * *

Nothing ever tasted like much.  Steve had grown up poor, and though his mother had tried hard to provide everything he’d needed (and she had, and he loved her so much), but there hadn’t been money for anything extra.  Food was boiled, boiled meats and boiled vegetables.  Mayonnaise sandwiches and beets and cabbage.  On occasion there were treats, cakes or cookies or licorice or chocolate, but those were rare moments, tastes he didn’t know nearly as well as the bitter medicines he took or the bland flavors of whatever his mother could scrounge together for dinner.  It was alright, always good enough, and Steve had never known better.

Here and again, though, after the serum, what he could taste was so much sharper.  It was a minor thing compared to how enhanced his other senses had become, but it was still something he noticed from time to time.  Bucky joked after the war he could get a job as a chef because he’d gone from having fairly well no preferences in what he ate at all to an extremely discerning palate.  Granted, it was war, and the old saying of beggars not being choosers definitely applied.  Plus his heightened metabolism didn’t allow him to be picky.  He _had_ to eat whatever there was.  Still, now and then he tasted something really sharp or sweet or sour or savory, something _new_ that took him by surprise and gave him pause.

It was Christmas Eve, and SSR was camped out near a little village in northern areas of France.  Their latest campaign against HYDRA was long and arduous, so the fact that they have something of a break was really nice.  This particular village was fairly war-torn, being so close to where Operation Overlord occurred six months ago.  Still, the Howling Commandos were recently successful in driving a front of HYDRA out of the hills surrounding them, and the townspeople were so thrilled that this was the first time in a long time their group was celebrating.

The proprietor of the local inn had invited them all in to enjoy drinks and whatever food they could find.  The Nazis had ransacked the village some weeks ago, so there wasn’t much.  Whatever these poor, wonderful people had, though, they were sharing.  They were offering up everything they had left out of gratitude and in the spirit of the holiday.  There was a nice fire roaring in the inn’s hearth, filling the dining area with warmth.  The Commandos were gathered around the table, some sitting and some not, and a few bottles of wine were opened.  They were old, dusty, probably well-hidden to keep the Nazis from stealing them.  Steve didn’t find the taste of the wine all that appealing, to be honest, too fermented for his liking, but he only smiled and let the townsfolk and his men toast him again.  “To the Cap!” someone yelled, raising his drink.  “Where would we be without him?”

Everyone echoed similar sentiments, clapping and cheering a bit before drinking their wine.  Steve took another mouthful of his, trying not to grimace at how sour it was.  Back home, they had hardly drunk anything other than beer.  That had been godawful, too, but it was always about sharing the moment, usually with Bucky.  Bucky was standing to his left now, wincing too as he drained the rest of his glass.  “Tastes like acid,” he mumbled, grinning and nodding to their hosts.  Bucky could always charm his way through anything, and he raised his glass in polite deference.

Steve chuckled, catching the happy gaze of the innkeeper and his wife and daughter.  They were obviously thrilled Captain America and his men were enjoying their hospitality.  To that end, he smiled and nodded as well, making a point to let them see him drink more of the wine.  The sour flavor assailed his taste buds again, and it was getting harder and harder to get it down.  He did what his mother always said when he’d had to take medicine as a boy: he got it all over as fast as possible, one big gulp rather than little sips.  Of course, that made it impossible to hide his grimace.

“Bottom’s up?” Bucky chided with a laugh.

“Shaddap,” Steve said, blinking the tears from his eyes.  Bucky laughed harder, smacking him on the back which made him cough, and went to pour him more.  Once he stopped choking, Steve scowled.  All this misery and he couldn’t even get drunk from it.

The rest of the Commandos didn’t seem too upset that the wine tasted so terrible, so maybe it was the serum turning this into torture.  Of course, it wasn’t like any of them had refined palates, particularly given what they usually had to eat (which was C-rations and whatever was available after a long mission).  They’d earned whatever they could get.  It’d been a tough year of hunting down HYDRA, and this quiet, simple moment felt like affirmation that what they were doing was worth it.  How horrendous their wine was aside, these people were opening their bottles for them, opening their homes to them, sharing Christmas cheer with them like old friends.  It felt really good to be a part of it.

The party went on for a while, all loud laughter and drinking and tales of Christmases past.  Despite the language barrier between some of the GIs and their hosts, everyone was having a fine time.  It was wonderful to see Bucky smile, really smile, and laugh with the others.  An hour or two into it, after the meager amount of bread and cheese had long been eaten and most the wine was gone, the men were well and truly tipsy.  Steve watched them enjoy their buzz, feeling a tad envious but mostly pleased to see everyone enjoying themselves.  Bucky was regaling some of their antics from their youth, leaving the others guffawing and demanding to know more about their illustrious captain when he was a twig of a kid standing up to bullies in Brooklyn alleyways.  Bucky was happy to oblige, flushed with good spirits and drink.

“He looks happy.”

Steve turned to find Peggy standing beside him.  She was dressed in her uniform that was rumpled from a few days’ worth of wear.  Her hair was curling around her face, and her make-up was almost worn away.  She still looked radiant, golden warm from the light of the fire and the candles around the room.  Steve almost forgot himself staring, smelling that soft scent of her perfume that always lingered even after long hours of battle, losing himself in the sound of her voice.  “Doesn’t he?” she prompted with a little knowing smile.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed.  God, he was still so hopeless around her.  Even after months of working closely together, after talking for hours and telling each other so much about themselves, after learning her moods and her expressions, after everything they’d been through together…  She still left him reeling with her mere presence.  It was pretty pathetic.  He cleared his voice and folded his arms over his chest.  “Yeah, it is.  He deserves it.  They all do.”

Peggy stared at him, almost coy, those lush lips of hers turning into a little grin.  “And what do you deserve, Captain?”

“Peg?”

She took his arm and pulled him away.  “Come on.”

He was pretty well stunned, but he managed to remember he had legs beneath him capable of walking.  He let her lead him out of the dining room to a little alcove in the dark and empty kitchen.  There was a table there, old and nicked with just a couple lit candles atop it and a satchel in its middle.  Steve blinked, pretty surprised.  “What’s this?”

“The innkeeper’s wife wanted to thank me personally for allowing her to host Captain America, as she put it,” Peggy said proudly.  She closed the door a bit behind them so the roar of noise from the dining room wasn’t so loud.  “She offered up their goods.”  She grinned, strolling right over to the table.  “Also as she put it.”  Her hands went into satchel, and she pulled out a jar of something and an old bottle.

Steve grimaced.  “I don’t think I can drink anymore,” he immediately protested.

“Trust me,” she replied.  She gestured him closer until they were sitting across from each other.  It was a tight squeeze; Steve barely fit in the tiny space, but he didn’t care.  The starlight streamed through the kitchen window, and Peggy was absolutely glowing in it as she handed him the jar and bottle.  The jar had a label on it, words written in French.  _Confiture de lait._   There was writing on the bottle, too.  _Chocolate liqueur._ There were two little glasses and a single spoon.  “If you’ll do the honors?”

He gave a surprised chuckle, opening the jar with ease before doing the same to the old bottle.  Immediately the scent of chocolate filled the little alcove.  He poured a brown liquid out into each of the glasses, and the aroma only got stronger, headier.

“Mmmm.”  Steve looked up to see Peggy had dipped a spoon into the jar.  There was something like caramel in there, only not quick as thick.  The way she put the spoon in her mouth and pulled it through her lips was entrancing.  Her eyelids fluttered shut like the taste was too good to bear.  He watched, mesmerized.  When she was through, she licked her lips a little and grinned again. It was like everything sweet in the world spun into a single gesture.  “I must confess to having something of a sweet tooth.”

“Not sure that I do,” he admitted.  “Never had much that was sweet.”

She offered the spoon to him.  “Then find out.”

He took the spoon and dipped it into the jar.  The aroma of it was intoxicating as he pulled it into his mouth.  _Wow._   The second the caramel-like substance touched his tongue, it was unlike _anything_ he’d ever tasted before.  It was silky smooth, more sugary than he’d ever had but not unbearably so.  There was a hint of the tang of alcohol and the softness of vanilla chasing the syrupy flavor.  It coated his tongue, thick but welcomed, and he swirled it around to get more of it.  He must have let his eyes slip shut, too, because as he came back to himself, he noticed Peggy was staring with a smile on her face.  “Good?” she asked.

“Yeah,” was all he could manage.  “Delicious.”

Her smile turned soft.  She reached across the table and wiped her thumb across his lower lip.  “You had…”

He wiped at his mouth himself, flushing hard.  She grinned, her cheeks rosy.  They stared at each other a moment, and the sweetness of the caramel lingered on Steve’s tongue.  Peggy sucked her thumb into her mouth, blushing more, and reached for her drink.  “Merry Christmas, Steve.”

He wanted to tell her so much more, how beautiful she was, how much she’d changed him, how much she meant to him.  But he couldn’t manage it.  “Merry Christmas, Peggy.”

She seemed to understand what he couldn’t say.  Together they drank.  The liqueur was strong and chocolatey, and it burned a molten path down his throat and into his chest.  The heat settled in his heart, and he watched Peggy take another spoonful of the sweet confection, watched her slide it between her lips, watched her close her eyes and savor it anew.  He watched and wondered if her lips would taste as sweet.

* * *

Steve’s hands were so much bigger that sometimes he still didn’t recognize them.  They were so much stronger that sometimes he forgot how it felt to be weak.  To let go.  To fail.

He was remembering all too well right now.

The bombed-out bar echoed with the ghosts of the dead.  Everything was burned, charred beyond recognition.  Steve’s memory was so good that he could picture exactly what it had looked like that night the Commandos had first gathered, the night he’d shared a beer with Bucky.  The golden light, the noise, the good cheer, the smell of cigars and cigarettes and beers, the sounds of the piano.  The soldiers of the liberated 107th gathered around tables and at the bar, celebrating their freedom.

Bucky right next to him, his hand on Steve’s shoulder.  Bucky smiling with so much pride it was almost tangible.  _“That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight…  I’m following him.”_

Bucky was gone, though.  Bucky was dead.  Steve was utterly alone.

He sniffled and slowly twirled his glass of scotch in his fingers.  This was stupid, and he knew it, but he felt like if he could just drink enough, maybe the alcohol would dull it.  Take it away somehow.  Mute it and quiet it.  The sights and sounds and smells and tastes.  The broken remains of the bar were making a mockery of that night, as black and sad and silent as they were, and he just wanted it all to stop.

It wouldn’t, though.  The serum made everything so vivid, so real, and it wouldn’t ever fade.  As long as he lived, he’d remember that night in London with Bucky smiling at his side and how _good_ it felt.  And he’d remember Bucky falling from the train, these hands that seemed so strong and sure _missing_ him as he’d slipped away.  Grasping air, his heart stopping in terror, Bucky’s scream as he tumbled down into the mountains…  The ice and snow pelting his face and the wind ripping a flood of tears from his eyes.  The pain.  _The pain._

What he wouldn’t give not to feel the pain.

There was cracking and creaking behind him.  Footsteps.  He heard them well before they got to him.  He supposed it was impossible that he’d be left alone.  He was Captain America, the one true hope of the United States, of the Allied war effort.  There was no moment to grieve.  And he supposed it was crazy to believe that Peggy wouldn’t come to him.  Underneath the stink of ash, he smelled flowers, and in his head, he saw red, the red of her dress as she walked through the bar that night and the world fell away, narrowing down to the way she looked, the way she walked, the way she talked.  The way he wanted to touch her.  _“When this is all over, I might even go dancing.”_

And Bucky had teased him afterward.  The guilt rose up inside him, and he downed the shot.  It just burned.  It didn’t make him feel numb at all.  _The price you pay._   He wanted to cry, but instead he stubbornly wiped away his tears.  Her soft footfalls were loud as she came closer, but they were tentative.  He knew her well enough to realize she was afraid for him.  He sighed and reached for the bottle to refill his glass.  “Doctor Erskine said the serum wouldn’t just affect my muscles.  It would affect my cells, create a protective system of regeneration and healing.”  It wasn’t like she wasn’t aware of that.  It wasn’t like he needed to explain.

He explained anyway as the next useless shot spilled into his empty glass.  “Which means, um…”  He stared at the liquor, felt the smooth glass under his fingertips.  There were imperfections in it.  He could sense that.  As strong as it seemed, it wouldn’t take much at all to shatter it, break it.  “I can’t get drunk.  Did you know that?”

Peggy always took comfort in stoicism, in procedure and logistics and formality.  That was one of the many things that made her such a phenomenal leader and agent.  She grabbed a fallen chair and righted it so that she could sit.  “Your metabolism burns four times faster than the average person’s.  He thought it could be one of the side effects.”

Steve looked down, blinking back tears.  He rubbed his fingertips over the glass again, fighting to hold his strength back.  Peggy stared at him.  The silence dragged on, deep and devastating.  The echoes of those ghosts were loud.  Conversations from better times.  Friends and comrades now dead.  Bucky wasn’t the only one.  So many men had died since Captain America had picked up the shield.  It had only been a year and a half, and Steve was only twenty-seven, and the serum should probably make it impossible for him to suffer from fatigue like this, but he felt old.  He felt _worn._

Peggy’s lips pressed into a thin line.  “It wasn’t your fault.”

That wasn’t what he wanted to hear.  “Did you read the report?”

Her voice was soft but sure.  “Yes.”

A bitter breath escaped him before he could stop it.  “Then you know that’s not true.”

Her eyes were still on him.  It was like he could _feel_ them on his skin.  Like everything, his sense of touch was much stronger than it had been, and a breath of a breeze on a calm day felt like a gale sometimes.  So the weight of her gaze on him could be crushing.

It wasn’t.  “You did everything you could.”  There was nothing but genuine faith and sincerity in her voice.  Genuine grief.  “Did you believe in your friend?  Did you respect him?”  Steve finally pulled his own eyes from that mostly empty bottle of scotch and turned to her.  She was watching him with nothing but concern.  “Then stop blaming yourself.  Allow Barnes the dignity of his choice.  He damn well must have thought you were worth it.”

That didn’t make him feel better exactly.  The numb apathy for which he was so desperate was miserably out of reach.  The hole in his heart was still aching, still bleeding.  Maybe it wasn’t as sharp, though.  He took a deep breath.  The air felt a bit cleaner inside him.  The stink of ash wasn’t so pungent.  “I’m going after Schmidt.  I’m not gonna stop until all of HYDRA’s dead or captured.”

“You won’t be alone.”  Peggy reached across the table and grasped his hand.  She’d touched him countless times, friendly, compassionately, flirtatiously.  For support and comfort and admonition.  For endless reasons.  Every time she did, the place where her skin contacted his always felt _more_ alive somehow, like the nerves there were singing.  Right now it was almost like they were humming with contentment, and every sweep of her thumb over his knuckles sent warm waves up his arm and into his chest.  Like so many other times, _she_ grounded him.  Gave him something to focus on.  Helped him reorient his world so that he could see and hear and smell and taste and touch without his senses overwhelming him.  She anchored him.

And she was beautiful.

Steve couldn’t hold back a sob now.  She never let go of him, never let her fingers leave his body for even a second.  “And you don’t have to do this alone, either,” she whispered, grasping his hand and pulling him closer across the table.  “It’s alright,” she promised.  “I’m here.  Hold onto me.”

He did.  He touched her, felt her.  How warm and soft she was.  How strong she was.  How good she was.  He could try the rest of his life, and he’d never be as strong and good as her. 

A couple days later Captain America and the SSR stormed the last HYDRA stronghold in the Alps.  Steve allowed himself to be captured so the rest of the Commandos and the troops in reserve could attack.  Peggy even saved his life when a HYDRA thug with a flamethrower nearly got the better of him.  She was right there when he boarded HYDRA’s plane full of bombs to bring down the Red Skull.  She kissed him _right there,_ in a speeding car chasing after Schmidt, in front of their CO.  It seemed like the culmination of everything they’d shared, the gentle flirting and meaningful conversations, the touches and smiles and laughs.  The way they understood each other and supported each other.  What they were meant to be.

Her lips were as lush and soft as he always imagined they would be, as sweet as he’d dreamed.  They were pressed hard against his as she grabbed his uniform and tugged him close.  The shock stood no chance against the rush of heat throughout his body.  It blasted over his nerves, electrifying him.  Her touch on his skin had so much power.  Her kiss.

Finally, her kiss.

And it was still with him, tingling over his lips, as he told her over the radio after defeating the Red Skull that he had to crash the plane.  That he’d need a raincheck on the dance they’d talked about.  That this was it, and it was his choice.  He tried not to hear the tears in her voice and tried not to think about how his world was blurring as the plane went down and the ice shelf came up.  She made him swear to be there at the Stork Club next Saturday at eight o’clock.  She promised to teach him not to step on her feet.  He promised to be there.  They could dance the night away with her in his embrace, cheek to cheek, heart to heart.

But it wasn’t meant to be.  The plane crashed.  The radio transmission died.  The ice rushed up at him and swallowed him whole.  It was brutal as it touched his skin, as it sucked him down and crushed him in its embrace.  It invaded his body, his skin and blood and bones.  His heart.  The ice took him down into the darkness, and the faint caress of Peggy’s kiss was the last warmth he knew.

* * *

The world changed.

He slept in the ice for seventy years.  It was like being dead.  He _was_ dead to the world, having sacrificed himself to stop the Red Skull’s plot to destroy the eastern seaboard of the United States.  Captain America was already a hero, but he became a _legend_ with that.  He’d protected people like he’d always wanted.  He’d saved the world.

But the price was steep.  He lost seventy years.  _Seventy years._ It was simply gone, taken from him by this cruel twist of fate.  He was lost, frozen, and when they found him, rescued him from the ice and the wreckage of the plane, breathed life back into him…

The world was different.

The war was over.  Supposedly the United States and her allies won, but Steve wasn’t so sure all the time.  It didn’t seem like these people today remembered much of the lessons he and so many other people died to learn.  Lessons about tyranny and oppression and the dangers of power in the hands of the influential.  It wasn’t just that, either.  Technology had invaded every aspect of life, from the way people communicate to the way they work and play to the way they fundamentally operate.  The world was loud, bright, with new smells and tastes, and nothing was the same.  Everything was moving, busy, demanding attention.  It was harder than ever to focus.

He was, though.  His sense of time was extremely accurate, so this left him absolutely reeling.  But he was resilient, too.  He was adapting.  He was living in this new world, functioning as well as he could.  Throwing himself back in.  Following orders.  Serving.  He was a SHIELD agent and an Avenger.  He was still Captain America, and it was obvious the world still needed him.

It wasn’t always easy, though.  The world had changed again.  All the people he’d known and loved were dead, had been dead for decades.  The Howling Commandos.  Men with whom he’d served.  Colonel Phillips.  Howard Stark.  Bucky.  They were all gone, and for the world it had been years since they were lost.  For Steve, it was only a matter of months.  He was so lost.  Everything had been ripped from him all at once.

Almost everything.

When he found out Peggy was alive, it was the first time since waking up at SHIELD Headquarters in Times Square that he felt anything aside from crushing apathy.  Immediately his senses poured information to him, things he knew so well.  Red lips.  The scent of lilies.  Gentle humming and sweetness playing on his tongue and soft fingertips on his skin.  _Peggy._   The million moments they’d spent together that had reshaped his life.  They all came back so clearly, memories that were sharp and vivid and perfect thanks to the serum.  They were so powerful they almost sucked him down and took him right back, but they didn’t.  It was 2012, and there was no going back.

It took him a few months (and an alien invasion and a new team to lead) before he summoned the courage to go see her.  Truth be told, he was frightened.  He’d spent seventy years in suspended animation, a man out of time, literally _untouched_ by time.  She hadn’t.  He read her file from SHIELD.  She was an old woman now.  She had helped found SHIELD and had lived an amazing life.  She had married after Steve died, married another soldier from the war.  She’d had children.  Her children had children.  She was living in a nursing facility, stricken by fading health and, more upsetting, a fading mind.  She was a shadow of the young, strong, vibrant woman he’d known only a few short months ago.  She was seventy years older than he was.

And he was afraid of that.  Everything they could have had…  He was afraid of facing what they’d lost.

But she deserved better than his cowardice.  For every time she’d guided him, anchored him, taken care of him and supported him and elevated him…  He deserved everything he could give her.  He was Captain America because of she’d been there to tell him what he’d needed to hear.  _You were meant for more than this._   He had to go to her.

So he did.  After settling as much as he could in his new life, in this changed world, he flew to England.  He went to where she was.  He walked down the hallways, his heart pounding, his mind racing.  He found his way to her door.  And he knocked.

“Come in,” came a muffled voice.  _Her voice._   He’d know it anywhere.  He took a deep breath and grasped the knob.  He turned it.  He opened the door.

She lay there in the bed, covered in a thin quilt, face turned to the window.  She looked…  Wrinkles heavily lined her face.  Her eyes were duller, lacking the vibrant intelligence that had captured his heart.  Gray hair was still thick but dull as well, streaked with white where it fell on her shoulders.  She was thinner, frail, a bit gaunt and emaciated and pale, but he knew her face.  He knew her.  She turned when he came inside and stared at him, and there was confusion in her eyes.  So much confusion.  It killed him to see it, and he stood there, breaking inside.  He swallowed down the lump in his throat.  “Hi, Peg.”

The confusion got worse.  She blinked and blinked, like she thought her eyes were deceiving her.  The nurses told him when he called that she knew about him, that he had been found in the ice and revived.  That he was alive.  Right now, he wasn’t so sure she did because she looked like she’d seen a ghost.  “Steve?” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he said with a nod.  “It’s me.”

Her eyes filled with tears.  Her voice broke.  “You’re – you’re alive?”

He came closer.  “Yeah, Peg.  They found me.”

The tears spilled down her cheeks.  Her hand shook as she lifted it from the side of the bed.  He raced across the short distance between them, grabbing the chair a little way from her bed and pulling it closer so he could sit.  He took her fingers in his, hers weathered, gnarled things, and his as strong and young as they had been during the war.  He held her hand tight.  “You came back,” she whispered.  “I always knew you would!”

He raised her hand to his face and kissed her knuckles.  “Of course,” he swore, choking on his own tears.  “Couldn’t leave my best girl.  Not when she owes me a dance.”

This became their new world.  He came to see her all the time, as often as he could, and sat at her bedside.  They talked.  She told him about the things she’d done, the family she had, the amazing feats she’d accomplished to make the world safer.  He told her about the Avengers, about Howard Stark’s son and demigods and assassins and monsters made from men.  About all the troubles he faced leading them and working his way through this new, complex, _dangerous_ world.  It was amazing how easily they fell back into their friendship.  She was quick to comfort him, to console him and remind him of the things he needed to know.  Telling him the things he needed to hear.  _“None of us can go back.  The best we can do is start over.”_   They were just like they always were.  _“You always were so dramatic.”_ They were the same in so many ways.  _“You’re a hero, Steve.  You are now.  You always have been.  That’s why they chose you.”_   So many ways.  _“It was…  It was all I could have asked for.  Knowing you.”_

That was only when her mind was sharp, though.  Inevitably she drifted when the dementia got stronger.  He stayed at her side then, too, holding her hand tightly, consoling her over and over again that he was there, that he was alive.  That they were together.

“I’m not who I was,” she said one day toward the end.  Steve watched her work through her emotions, this crushing realization all over again that he was young and time had taken her from him.  She frowned through her tears.  “I don’t regret who I became.  Not in the least.  I have lived a life.”  Steve nodded, squeezing her hand.  “But how you must see me now…”

“How I see you?”  He leaned closer, brushing her hair from her forehead.  She was so withered and small, delicate with paper-thin skin and spidery veins and hazy eyes.  He smiled all the same.  “I saw you first, you know, after they gave me the serum.  I saw your red lips.  That was the first thing I saw, the first time I ever saw anything red.  I still see them.”  She smiled that same smile of hers, the bashful, flustered one, the one that she always had only for him.  “I could always smell your perfume.  That was the reason I was able to get back from Azzano.  I ever tell you that?  I could smell your perfume, and it led me to where I needed to go.  Lilies.”  Her eyes welled with tears.  Steve smiled.  “And your voice.  You got me through so much with your voice, Peg.  Helped me deal with the things that went wrong, the things that hurt.  The noise in my head when it got bad.  You were always there.  And remember that one Christmas we had?  With the chocolate and the caramel?  Out in that kitchen by ourselves?  I can still taste it.  Every time I have anything sweet, I think of you.”

“Steve…”

“When you touch me, you take all the pain away.  You always did, and you always will.  Your hands made me whole.”  He grasped them now and held them tight.  And he struggled to keep talking, keep smiling.  “I can live on that, on the memory of these things.  They’re perfect and as real to me as they were the day they happened.  I love you.  That hasn’t changed, Peg.  _You_ haven’t changed.  Not to me.”  He leaned close and stared into her eyes.  “The serum changed me.  You changed me.  But you’re still the same as you were.  You’re still beautiful.  So beautiful.”  He kissed her forehead.  “And I love you and I always will.  No matter what, you’ll be with me.”

She smiled, too.  Then she took his face and held him close.  “I love you, too.”

She died not long after that, and his world changed again.  It got even darker and more dangerous.  Everything he promised her was true, though.  In his mind, they were together forever.  She was with him always, smiling, laughing, stunning in her red dress and red lipstick, with her creamy white skin and deep brown eyes.  The smell of flowers and the sound of her voice in his ear and the sweetness of her lips and the touch of her body to his as he pulled her close, as they danced.  The serum had amplified everything within, and she was inside him, imprinted on his soul, defining his heart.  Sight and sound and taste and smell and touch.  Every time he dreamed, those things filled in the spaces, soft and vibrant and sweet.  Every time he remembered, his senses made it real and true.

Every time he thought of her, she was brought to life.

**THE END**


End file.
